


Bluebird Variation

by gemii



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Audio books, Ballet AU, Classical Ballet - Freeform, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Injury Recovery, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, NYC, Oral Sex, Overachievers, Pining, They both need therapy, Vaginal Sex, nonmagical AU, paper thin plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemii/pseuds/gemii
Summary: Hermione and Draco are ex-nemeses, friends with benefits, and potential pas de deux partners. Did they mention they both look great in blue?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 110





	Bluebird Variation

**Author's Note:**

> Actual ballet dancers/experts/fans beware—there are probably going to be a far number of flaws and inconsistencies in this world-building. While I'm very open to comments and feedback of any kind, I was only trying approximate realism here, so please only proceed if that won’t bother you too much. With that, I hope you enjoy!

Cntd. notes: [Bluebird pas de deux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCvpfvwXxWI) (Royal Ballet) - [Bluebird female variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wj_4DcvIdkM) (Royal Ballet) - [Full Bluebird suite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8K8HMisnS4&;t=165s%C2%A0) (Bolshoi Ballet)

* * *

Since graduating from Columbia University’s School of International & Public Affairs at nineteen and becoming a corps member with the American Ballet Theatre, Hermione’s daily routine went something like this:

  * Wake up at 6:00am, plus or minus eight minutes
  * Check into her online policy analysis internship to help a client group in Belgium or Spain
  * Listen to NPR while stretching and going through a yoga routine, carefully navigating her way around furniture and the walls of her shoebox apartment
  * Consume granola and vegan yogurt with French-pressed, ethically sourced coffee
  * Sew Grishkos on the subway to the Metropolitan Opera House, making sure to arrive with ample time to warm up
  * Take class and rehearsals from 10:30am to 6pm
  * Perform in one to three ballets in an evening
  * Stumble into apartment around 11pm, eat dinner, ice feet
  * repeat six days a week



Oh, and do Draco Malfoy on a regular basis, which was throwing a wrench in all of her usual plans. Currently, she was running half an hour behind her usual schedule thanks to a night of indiscretion with the boy sitting next to her on the subway. They carefully ignored each other as Hermione stitched ribbons onto her pointe shoes and Draco listened to an audio book with his eyes closed and head tipped back, but Hermione didn’t move her ankle from where it was hooked around Draco’s. Out of the corner of her eye, she suppressed an appreciative thought for the fine lines of his face and the little imperfections—the thin blue veins in his eyelids and the mole on his left cheek, the uneven redness of his lips. Did he know how vulnerable he looked?

Draco might have been a smart ass and a bully for their three shared years and four summer technicals at the School of American Ballet, but somehow that hadn’t stopped Hermione from noticing his crisp technique, elongated lines, and the face he made when he was laughing with Pansy and Blaise during water breaks. And that definitely hadn’t stopped her from sleeping with him the night after they had both received their corps contracts along with a handful of fellow company apprentices.

The party had been to celebrate the end of an outstanding run of Agon and had evolved into a celebration of the recent promotions. Hermione allowed herself a tiny smile at the memory of Draco’s platinum hair and hateful, weasly, remorseful, handsome face illuminated by a mosaic of colored lights; his twisty mouth as he apologized for years of taunting and undermining that had to end with both of them official company members now; and his hands hovering at his sides in shock when Hermione had abruptly kissed him.

Four months later, and they were still engaging in HR-discouraged activities several times a week. Hermione was choosing to ignore the increasing frequency with which Draco was sleeping over in her tiny apartment instead of ordering a car back to his upscale Manhattan apartment, which Hermione was opposed to visiting on principle (his father had to be paying for it, and Hermione was concerned about the ethics of Lucius Malfoy’s income; multiple testimonials had come out about both local and global exploitation within his business conglomerate). But that was a digression—Draco had been remarkably gracious about her humble housing, when Hermione would’ve placed money on Draco mocking or whining about. And for that she was grateful. When they reached their stop, Hermione shuffled her shoes and supplies into her hand-quilted bag, and nudged Draco to get him up. Another day of dancing awaited them.

// Hermione stood in front of the bulletin almost in disbelief. She felt like a caricature of a dancer or an actor getting their big break, but what was there to do other than stand stock still with her mouth agape. Under the castings for the spring season’s _Sleeping Beauty,_ Hermione was listed as the female soloist in the Bluebird variation, a pas de deux, double variation, and coda that usually went to actual soloists in the company. It was dear to Hermione's heart since she had won a ballet competition for the variation, but beyond that, she found it iconic--its lighthearted overtone only made it more important to convey charm and effortlessness in every bird-like movement. Cormac McLaggen, a cocky soloist known for his blustery charm and suspended-in-the-air jumps, had been cast as her Bluebird partner. And listed as the first understudy to the male part was one _D. Malfoy._

Hermione didn’t really have any words, but Harry just threw an arm over her shoulder and squeezed. “You know you deserve this,” he laughed. He was still breathing hard from his most recent rehearsal, the red bandana that held back his curls dark with sweat.

“You know I know that,” Hermione teased. Despite her slight bravado, she was breathless and thrumming. Inch by inch, her dreams were coming true. She couldn’t wait to talk to Draco.

// The first week of Bluebird rehearsals had been fast and intense. While Hermione and Cormac received close instruction from the ballet master, Draco and Cho were often practicing in the back of the studio, or were off at other corps rehearsals. Draco and Hermione were both busy with multiple ballets that were running concurrently. A certain tenseness had started flowing into the non-working part of Draco’s and Hermione’s relationship, and Hermione finally tried to bring it to light over dinner one late night.

Sitting side by side eating reheated stuffed bell peppers and salads on Hermione’s dumpy corduroy couch with their feet immersed in epsom salt-ice buckets to quell post-performance aches and pains, Hermione glanced over at Draco. He seemed moody and distant.

Before Hermione could open her mouth to start a conversation about Fox, the other ballet they were both in, Draco started to speak. “I know we’ve both been really busy lately. I mean, when aren’t we. But can we talk about what’s going on between us?”

Hermione was filled with a sudden dread. She saw everything playing out—a long argument, stonewalling, and her defending her independence. It had happened several times before, and she had really relished the unspoken arrangement she and Draco had formed.

Draco was still talking. “We’ve been hooking up for months, and I. Like you a lot, and I mean, what are we?”

“Look,” Hermione started. This could go about three different ways, and she wanted to just bite the bullet. Hermione was just annoyed that it was happening that night. “You’re really good at sex.” It came out more bluntly than she meant it to.

“Are you saying I’m your boy toy?” Beneath the wryness in Draco’s voice, there was something cutting.

“I don’t know!” Hermione felt cornered. “I just, I don’t know if we’re suited to a relationship.” How did she fit class and upbringing and all of the personal insecurities she didn’t want to examine into a compelling argument for him to just _stay,_ without any fuss. “I just think we come from very different backgrounds!”

“What do you mean by that?” Draco looked puzzled and a little wounded. He prodded at the glossy side of his stuffed bell pepper.

“I think we might have different value systems,” Hermione replied shortly. She was frustrated with this conversation, which didn’t seem to have a clearcut sides or a simple, diplomatic answer. She was so tired, and the easiest thing was to just fall back on her moral compass. “Just, I think it’s important to support yourself, and not passively and indirectly benefit from the gross exploitation of working class people. And commit fraud.”

“You think I live off of my father’s money?” Draco asked lowly. “Lucius made it very clear from the beginning of my interest in ballet that he would never take this pursuit seriously. He’s not giving me a dime until I go to Yale.”

Hermione had only ever put fleeting thought into how Lucius Malfoy had actually reacted to his son’s dancing career. She had assumed that given his privileged background, Draco had been endlessly supported through his every endeavor, even if that wasn't becoming a wolf on Wall Street. Hermione rubbed her eyes. This conversation had gotten so out of hand, and she wanted it to be over, but not at the cost of their relationship.

“You know what? Never mind. Sometimes I feel like you don’t even see me as a person. Evidently, you know me even less well than I thought you did.” Draco had pulled his feet out of the ice bucket and was drying off his feet.

Hermione was rattled by the depth of Draco’s hurt, but at the same time, she barely resisted rolling her eyes at Draco’s dramatic response. “Can we just do this another time? I just.” Hermione sighed, setting her plate on the side table. If she started analyzing anything now, then she would never stop and she would have to face the swirling feelings she was always pushing away and everything would be ruined. Maybe everything was ruined anyway. “This isn’t a good time.”

“When would be a good time, Hermione?” Again, Hermione found some humor in the melodramatic delivery of this line. She chalked her reaction up to being overly tired, but a small smirk escaped onto her face, and at that, Draco abruptly walked away to wash his plate in the kitchen.

He didn’t make eye contact as he pulled on his shoes. Fucking loafers. Hermione wanted him to come back so she could tease him for his shoe choice and then give him an orgasm. “Text me when you think ‘it’s a good time.’”

Hermione let her head fall back onto the back of her couch. This was all so familiar,yet so much more painful than it usually was. “See you in class tomorrow!” she called to his back. Only silence.

 **//** There was no time in a crammed ballet season to obsess over hurt feelings, and as it turned out, Hermione was really good at compartmentalizing her life. In a whirlwind of rehearsals, costume fittings, physical therapy, and nightly performances, Hermione had gone for longer without sleeping with Draco than she had since getting her corps contract—despite still seeing him almost every day. Did that matter to her? Of course not. Even more than the sex, was she intensely missing Draco’s nerdy chitchat and caustic commentary, which had been replaced with perfunctory civility? That would be absurd. At the very least, at least Harry was too emotionally unsubtle to recognize the change in Hermione's demeanor, which she wasn't particularly interested in talking about. He was busy wooing Blaise, anyway.

In the bustle of her days, one moment stood out. Draco practicing alone in an empty studio during his usual midday break, throwing his body through a beautiful but punishing variation. Sweat gleamed on his temple and throat, but he moved with terrific energy and tightly controlled precision. His lines were so clean and crisp…Hermione remembered a time when they still hated each other and she had seen him practicing, and she had felt an unwelcome and unambiguous stab of desire to see him in bed. Draco bounded into a double capriole, looking impossibly light and strong, and Hermione slipped away before he noticed her, or before her heart gave out.

The Sleeping Beauty run began. The first few performances went off without any major hitches, and Hermione noticed who was noticing her--not just appreciative audiences, but some senior members in the company, and the ballet masters and directors who guided promotions. The pain in her hip flared from time to time, but she was dealing with it; it wasn't a big enough obstacle to hinder her. Everything was going swimmingly, and then Cormac got a compounded stress fracture, and that was the end of spring season for him.

Draco and Hermione only had the chance to rehearse together once, mere hours before Draco’s first Bluebird performance. Once they stepped on stage, Hermione’s simmering irritation and longing towards Draco was masked by a stage smile and the frothy lightness of the flute solo. Even though they were in closer proximity than they had been in weeks, Hermione’s personal feelings slipped away into the flow state of performing.

Despite their limited time practicing together, their separate talent and work put into the Bluebird suite paid off. As Hermione posed beatifically on Draco’s shoulder at the conclusion of the pas de deux, she couldn’t help feeling a flood of satisfaction with the performance. Hermione was an aggressive perfectionist, and she would take her work apart at a later point, but she was high on endorphins as applause rained down upon them.

Hermione let that euphoria carry through her solo variation. The movements were embedded deep in her muscle memory after hours of rehearsal; her technique had to be meticulously clean if she was going to effectively pull off the image of effortless, fluttering grace. Towards the end of the variation, Hermione entered a crisp series of pique turns on a diagonal across the stage, adrenaline and joy surging through her with every turn. The dramatic arabesque that followed the piques tugged at her hip, but Hermione ignored the pain as she glided into the ending pose, kneeling with her ear tipped to mimic listening for the male bluebird’s song. Hermione glowed at the waves of applause, which quieted only when Draco bounded to the stage for his variation.

In the final partnered dance, Draco shadowed Hermione’s every movement. Even when they weren’t in direct contact, they maintained a finely tuned awareness of each other’s counterpart movements. In the final bars of the coda, Hermione pushed her body into the final pose—another dramatic arabesque, and she felt a sharp burn in her right hip. It was such a simple movement, one that she had done hundreds of times, and somehow it was the tipping point.

Biting back a sharp gasp, Hermione slipped out of the arabesque and gracefully pattered into the wings, with Draco finishing a series of jumps before following after her. In the dim light off stage, he looked exhilarated and absolutely beautiful. He tossed a bright, uncomplicated smile Hermione's way, the first one in so long, but it quickly transformed into concern when he saw Hermione leaning against the wall to clasp her hip.

Before either of them could speak, the sound of thunderous applause drew them back onstage for bows. Hermione gritted her teeth into a bright smile, trying to make her movements flowing and classical. Bending into a low kneeling bow sent a painful shock through her, but the dark vastness of the cheering audience carried her through.

// Hermione was somewhere between crushed and infuriated about missing the her performances--it was only the last week and a half of the season, but the sting of missing out could not be dulled. Hermione attended ballets every night on crutches, watching from the balcony or wings, wrapped in her blue peacoat. A couple of days, Hermione attended morning class, modifying the movements to avoid worsening the condition of her hip. To her chagrin, a running joke in the company became that the Bluebird parts were apparently cursed with injury, but Draco and Cho made it through the last four performances of Sleeping Beauty without so much as a stubbed toe.

Before Hermione knew it, the season was done. In just a month, the Met Opera House would be flooded with students for the summer intensive. Flowering trees and the fresh scent of spring were everywhere, which Hermione took comfort in given the absence of her usual coping mechanisms—ballet and Draco. She was scheduled for a minor arthroscopic surgery to repair the tissue tear in the her hip socket, and that was yet another point of anxiety for her. Intellectually, Hermione knew that it was a minimally invasive procedure with a high success rate, but what if it was simply the end of her career? Or worse, what if she was able to return to ballet, but her dancing recovered so slowly that she humiliated herself and was never promoted from the corps?

In her search for life structure after a grueling season cut short, Hermione’s new routine looked something like this:

  * Wake up around 8am, sometimes 9
  * Work at her internship and TA summer classes at Columbia
  * Forgo coffee in favor of herbal tea and ibuprofen
  * Get lunch with Harry or Ron, who had just started at NYU, or sometimes FaceTime with Cormac to commiserate over their injuries. Hermione had to remind herself to never do that again after too much time hearing about Cormac's conquests and shallow interests, but then she would gravitate back, because she knew that she could really whine around him, and for once, she could take his whining, too.
  * Spend hours reading and sudoku'ing
  * Lean on Advil and Netflix to get her through the evening
  * Not think about Draco
  * Not think about surgery or how she was ever going to return to her peak as a dancer



Draco had texted her twice since her injury, and Hermione had answered once with a succinct outline of her injury and the treatment she was pursuing. She didn’t know what was between them and what wasn’t, and for once, her energy and curiosity were being drowned out by a bone-deep tiredness. Hermione didn’t have the emotional capacity to open another argument with Draco, even though the silence between them was becoming a major regret of hers.

It was two weeks post-season and two weeks pre-surgery when her buzzer went off a little past 6pm. Hermione hobbled up from the couch to respond, and her heart twisted painfully when she heard Draco’s voice through the intercom.

“Hermione?” His voice was hesitant. “It’s stupid how we left things.”

Hermione swallowed hard. “Come on up.” She buzzed him in. He didn’t leave until the next morning.

// Late September meant that the Opera House was gearing up for its autumn season. Draco and Hermione’s relationship had still been on shaky ground after their long talk in May, but he had visited her apartment every day for weeks after her surgery, bearing food, flowers, and library books, all while absorbing Hermione’s cranky moods with remarkable patience. And Hermione had made a stronger effort to see Draco as he was, for all the good he’d filled himself with. At some point that summer, they’d filed their relationship with the HR department at the Ballet.

Furthermore, Hermione’s hip had almost reached a new normal, and she had redoubled her focus on strength training and proper rest to prevent future injuries. She knew that the years ahead were uncertain and full of things beyond her control, but that it was also full of things within her control, like throwing her heart and mind into a fulfilling relationship with a smoking hot, snarky coworker.

Hermione still couldn’t get over how good it was to be under Draco. It was a delicious night rich with anticipation for the impending fall season when Hermione found herself filled with a particular intensity. Draco was between her legs, slowly and deliberately lapping at her clit. He had come to know her body so well. Hermione squirmed with pleasure shooting up her spine, and Draco pinned a forearm across her lower stomach in response. She inhaled sharply when he slid a finger inside her, tucked against a delicious sweet spot that she suddenly ached for his dick to be filling. Draco got sloppier with his mouth, ignoring Hermione’s desperate fingers combing through his hair. His intense grey gaze meeting hers was incendiary.

As Draco reached a blindingly perfect rhythm with the addition of another finger, Hermione felt herself tip over the edge into a world of delicious spasms. Draco continued working between her legs with the persistence that had gotten him far in the dancing world, and Hermione quickly moved from overstimulated to ready for more of him.

“Can you please get inside me now?” Hermione finally demanded. Her chest was heaving, but she tried to sound business-like. The straightforward approach was her strong suit and historically, it had tended to work in her benefit.

Draco was a wreck, with mussy hair and swollen, shiny mouth. As he moved up her body, he pressed kisses to the scattering of moles below her belly button. When Draco slid up the bed to lie beside her, his dick, thick and ruddy and leaking, smacked against his stomach. Hermione kissed his neck while he fumbled for a condom from her nightstand and slicked himself with lube. He rolled closer toher, and Hermione obligingly curled her legs around his narrow waist. As he sunk into her, neither of them could refrain from moaning. Draco always made her feel so full—almost overwhelmingly so. Her toes pointed and flexed.

Before Hermione had really adjusted to the stretch, Draco started thrusting in long, even strokes, eliciting moans and gasps from Hermione. This was what she wanted from him. This was what she needed from him. Hermione reached down to flick at her clit, and Draco curled down to bring her mouth into a deep, dirty kiss. His free hand glided up her side to gently knead her small breast. Draco’s flushed face was lost in pleasure, and in the glow of the lamplight, he was suddenly precious to Hermione.

He clasped his fingers gently around Hermione’s wrists. “May I?”

Hermione nodded vigorously, and Draco held her hands against her headboard with a firm grasp. Hermione closed her eyes and let herself succumb to pure feeling as she met his every thrust. Her body felt like a long, supple live wire, sparking with pleasure. As Draco’s movements grew more erratic, he pressed his free thumb against Hermione’s clit, providing pressure that built with every thrust. Hermione felt her whole body tighten with her second orgasm, and Draco quickly tumbled after her, sighing into her shoulder.

"God, I love you," Hermione breathed. Draco responded by kissing her soundly.

After they’d cleaned themselves up, Draco curled himself in the curve of Hermione’s body and promptly dropped off to sleep. Hermione remained awake for a little while longer, body buzzing. She stretched a bit, relishing the soreness in her limbs and particularly her wrists. When she finally drifted off to sleep, it was with the rhythm of Draco’s breath soothing her.

The next day was unusually leisurely, and she and Draco spent much of it curled up on her couch. He listened to an audio book with his eyes closed and head resting on her lap, and she relaxed with a heavy biography laid out on the couch arm. Hermione glanced away from her text. Every part of Draco made Hermione’s heart soft, from his long fingers laced over his chest, to his bare, calloused dancer’s feet propped on the other end of the sofa. Some movement on the bird feeder outside her fire escape caught Hermione’s eye, and she smiled to herself.


End file.
